


breathing fire was never this much fun

by cerie



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: BDSM, D/s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus/Will, post Sanctuary For None.  Magnus isn't done playing games, not yet, and makes her play in the dark.  Strong BDSM themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathing fire was never this much fun

_10PM. Club Black Lotus. M is alive._

Will has been staring at the email for hours, first on his computer and later on his phone. M can only mean one person and he knows, he _knows_ she would have contacted him by now. It’s been three months since the Sanctuary went up in flame and while Will stayed at SCIU for a little while, he’s gone now. Quit, before he could get fired, and it’s for the best. He’s mostly looking for work at the moment but he’s consulted on a few cases for OCPD and word around the station is that he’s got his old job back if he wants it.

He doesn’t want it. He had the only job he needs and he lost it. _And her._

Black Lotus isn’t Will’s kind of club. There’s no club that’s actually Will’s kind of club because he’s always been more of a cop bar and jazz lounge type but Black Lotus, at least, is one he’s familiar with from his old days on the force. It’s a fetish club, highly policed, and more than one weird thing has gone down there. It’s just outside the Fifth Ward, too, and Will wouldn’t be surprised if there’s illegal Abnormal trafficking; he’s pretty sure Ozone beetles are the least of their worries in there.

But his contact, whoever it is, wants to meet here and he’s got to dress accordingly. There’s a strict dress code and while Will’s not in the lifestyle, he knows how it works. There’s Dom and sub and there’s leather, pleather, and everything in between. It’s always been something intriguing to him even if he’s never indulged and the psychiatrist in him likes analyzing power plays and likes the idea of slipping on a mask and becoming anonymous for a little while. Will doesn’t have a lot of power right now. It might be nice to take some back, even if it’s just for a quick meeting in a club.

And, more importantly, this meeting will give him the key to finding her again.

***

He chooses dark clothes, better to blend in, and while he concedes to leather pants, he’s not leather all over. The shirt is black and opened a little lower than he’d normally wear and he wears dark, mirrored sunglasses even though it’s close to pitch black. He doesn’t want to be recognized from his old days and while he carries himself different than he did back on OCPD, he doesn’t know if anyone’s going to buy him in this club. Magnus has made him a different man, a new one, and he hopes the metamorphosis she sparked in him is enough to carry off the masquerade for tonight.

His contact doesn’t give him a name but as soon as Will steps inside, he’s pulled off to the side by a bouncer who manages, somehow, to make Biggie look small. The club is velvet, all wine and black, and Will’s boots sink into plush carpets as he’s led down a set of winding corridors to what must be the VIP rooms. Will knows there’s rooms here for voluntary sex acts, swingers, even hired girls. He doesn’t want to think about the wide spectrum of illegal acts probably going on back here and one of the rooms he passes is slightly open; a man has a slender woman with caramel-colored skin tied to a St. Andrew’s cross and her back is striped with bright welts. He tries, desperately, not to think of Kate.

The room his contact in appears to be the last along the long hallway and the bouncer lets him in before moving to stand just beside the door. Whoever the person is, they want to be kept secret, and they’ve picked a hell of a place to accomplish that. They also want to put on a show, his mystery contact, but it’s not so much a mystery anymore. No secrets, not for Will.

Tall, with svelte curves perfectly showcased in a corset done in red and black lace, Will knows her. He’d know her covered in mud or dressed in a garbage bag and she’s neither of those things. She’s just as poised and calm in fuck-me heels and a leather mask as she’s ever been in a designer suit. Magnus. She’s alive.

It’s a kick in the gut to see her standing there and Will’s frozen, three months of grief and loss repressed behind one hell of a mask comes tumbling free and his breath hitches when she draws close. She’s wearing black silk gloves to her elbows and she lifts one hand to brush against his cheek; fleeting, yet somehow the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced in his life. Also erotic. Helen Magnus, objectified, when Will has spent the better part of the last three years nurturing her heart and worshipping her mind.

She presses her lips to his ear and whispers something but the accent’s off and it throws him. It’s not the warm, low, husky English vowels he’s come to associate with Magnus and instead it’s harsher, flat and sort of nasal. It’s her poor attempt at Midwestern US and it comes off sounding more like Calgary with a little New York added for flavor. It’s not right, not for Magnus, and Will wants to grab her shoulders and shake her, ask her what the hell she’s doing and if this is another one of her cat-and-mouse games; he doesn’t have 113 years to give her and he needs answers now.

When he does grab her shoulders, his thumbs dig in sharply and her mouth, her perfectly-painted mouth, goes into a soft “oh” and there’s his Magnus again. She can’t check her reactions and hide all of her tells and that one little word is her voice again, low and melodic, and Will wants to hear it again. He doesn’t want to play games and if every word from her lips is going to be a lie, he doesn’t want words. He wants actions.

Her skin flushes so he chances pressing in harder; when he lifts his fingers there’s tell-tale red marks and he knows she’ll bruise. He wants to see his fingerprints writ in the dark ink of burst capillaries, breaking and flowing across her skin in a way that her words simply won’t. Her body can’t lie to him even if her mouth can and will.

“On your knees.”

His voice feels a little harsh and disembodied and he nearly loses it when Magnus wordlessly sinks down and presents herself before him. Will doesn’t exactly know what to do with that so he pets her hair, fingers tangling in silky-soft curls, and when he murmurs that she’s a good girl, it feels right. She tips her face up to him, crystal blue eyes stark behind the leather mask and ruby red lips more inviting than any fairy tale princess. He brushes his thumb against the corner of her mouth and smears the lipstick just a bit; all he can think about is that mouth wrecked and the bright red streaking away because he’s come all over her.

He twists his hand in her hair and pulls, jerking her head up higher. Her neck is beautiful, arched, and later when he fucks her (He doesn’t know when he decided he was going to. Maybe just now, maybe four years ago) he’ll tilt it back just like this. A little bite with her pleasure, a little sting to make the sweetness a solace that they both need. He’s suffered, since she’s been lying to him. She’s suffered through 113 years of loneliness and trusting no one. She can trust him here.

“Suck me. I’ll tell you when you can stop.”

It’s automatic, her hands coming up to glide lightly over his hips and Will wishes he was wearing cotton or linen instead of leather. He wants to feel every moment of her touching him, every sensation her fingertips impart against his skin. He gets his chance a few moments later when she makes quick work of his belt and pushes his pants down; they land somewhere around his ankles and he doesn’t give a fuck because she’s wrapped that perfect mouth around his cock. Will winds his hands in her hair and pulls harder than he normally would. His hips snap, cock driving deep into the soft wet of her open mouth and her throat relaxes and takes him in.

They’ve always been a hell of a team.

When he feels close, he pulls her away and she seems as breathless as he is. Her face is still perfect, though, and even though the blush breaks her cool, porcelain facade it’s not enough. He wants her broken, sobbing, bereft the way he’s felt these months without her. He needs to break her so he can gather her close again and while this isn’t the way he’d choose to do it, normally, it seems fitting. They’ve been stumbling toward bliss for the better part of two years; it’s about time they join hands and take the plunge.

He tugs her up to her feet just long enough to guide her to a low couch and spreads her legs wide. She’s not wearing panties and she’s glistening wet; it’s been as hard on her to keep it together tonight as it’s been for him. He grins a little, cocksure, and kneels for her. While he’s Topping tonight, she’s _Helen Magnus_. An Alpha male with a bigger set of balls than he has would kneel for her. Will always will, when she needs it.

He’s not tentative about this. He’s wanted his face in Helen Magnus’s cunt for as long as he can remember and when he’s finally there, he takes a moment just to inhale and remember. It’s a weird way to do it, maybe, but he’s missed her and this is one of the most intimate acts a man can share with a woman; he’ll be getting to another one of those later. For now, he slides his tongue through the slick mess she’s made of herself and sucks at her clitoris. She whimpers, squirms, claws his shoulders with her fingernails hard enough to draw blood but she doesn’t dare speak. He needs her to speak, to say his name, to recognize who’s making her feel this good and who she’s been lying to and he lifts his mouth a fraction of an inch so that when he speaks, his lips brush against labia and clitoris and fingers can slide in and punctuate his point. He slides two in, crooks them, and she sighs.

“Say my name. Say it.”

She’s sobbing now, tears streaking down her face, and Will leans in and gives her an edge of teeth against sensitive nerves. She cries out and when she says it, it’s low and broken and one of the most beautiful things Will’s ever heard in his life. His name, whimpered and strangled from the lips of Helen Magnus when she’s coming and bucking up against his face. He’s soaking wet, covered with her, and when he hears his name again, he settles on the couch and tugs her into his lap.

He likes this position for them, Magnus riding his cock while he’s face to face with her and he can look into her eyes. She’s been found out now and she keeps saying his name over and over, low and soft and when he arches up into her one final time and his vision goes white, her voice is the only thing that grounds him.

_Stay with me, Will. Stay. Come to me beneath the old Sanctuary. Keycode 235712965._

***

It’s another few days before he actually gets his head together and makes his way down to the old Sanctuary. He’s been avoiding it, honestly, because the sight of that gutted building takes him back to thinking she’s dead all over again and while he knows the truth, twisted metal and burned brick does nothing for his healing heart.

The keycode works even when he enters it with shaky fingers and she’s waiting for him, eyes bright and smile soft and secret. She’s in a gray dress with a smart little belt, not a hair out of place, but Will’s always going to see her on her knees wanton and lost for him. He wants it again. He wants it forever. The new Sanctuary’s all underground, her master plan, and it’s all glass and chrome and everything Old City wasn’t. She offers him her hand.

“Shall we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Sam, who wanted Magnus/Will club!fic. The original bunny was S1 anonymous club sex and somehow this morphed into Helen playing cat and mouse and going on her knees for Will.
> 
> The title is a lyric from a Snow Patrol song, "Ways and Means."


End file.
